


the gingerbread kind of gay

by jedusaur



Category: Breakfast with Scot (2007)
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, figure skates are the devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: Ryan hops up on the workbench next to him so they don't have to look at each other. "You're gay," he says. "But you're not... like Scot.""Nobody is like Scot," says Eric. "Kid made gingerbread cookies in the shape of Christmas trees yesterday. It's fucking August.""Jesus Christ," says Ryan.





	the gingerbread kind of gay

**Author's Note:**

> I tried figure skates once--one time--and hurt myself more severely than I ever have in four years of hockey. They're the worst.

"I can't fucking believe you talked me into this," Ryan grouses, fiddling with the metal eyelet things on the shitty rental skates. "Jesus, why won't this tighten?"

"You have to pull it tight before you loop in the laces. They stay put once they're in there." Scot kneels down to mess with it. "And I didn't talk you into it, I won the bet fair and square. Never go up against a gay guy's gaydar, my friend."

"Ugh." Ryan slaps Scot's hand away. "Fuck off, I got it."

Scot sits back, holding up his hands. "Fine, you wanna look like a rookie anklebender out there, be my guest." He clambers to his feet and cocks his hip, pointedly waiting. 

Ryan finishes redoing his laces and slaps his hands on his knees. "Let's get this shit over with."

He can tell it's gonna suck even before he gets on the ice, just from walking across the lobby. His center of balance is off from the raised heels, and it's weird to feel the blades touching the mat from front to back. There's a million people here, too. He's not getting out of this with his dignity intact.

It's even worse when he steps out onto the rink. "Fuck," he says, swaying backwards to keep from falling on his face. "Why do you hate me?"

"It's because I love you that I take the time and effort to open your eyes to new experiences," Scot says through a shit-eating grin. "You think you can do a crossover?"

"I think you can go fuck yourself," Ryan mutters. He gingerly takes a stride, then another. The high-heels thing is still weirding him out, but at least he doesn't look like fucking Bambi anymore. He tries shifting onto an outside edge as he turns a corner, and it sort of works, except he can't really do anything with it since he doesn't have a rocker. He totally can do a crossover, though. He's just gonna take a second to get his feet under him first.

"You look like a speed skater," Scot says, obnoxiously swiveling in front of Ryan and dropping into a deep back crossover. "Come on, do something."

Ryan bends his knees to accelerate and catches up enough to prod Scot right in the ticklish spot in his side. Scot squawks and dodges out of reach. "You told me to do something," Ryan teases, trying to catch up again. Fuck, he really can't get much speed in these things. He puts some more force into the balls of his feet and the toepick catches, flinging him flat onto the ice. Scot busts up laughing at him.

"Ow, shit. _Ow._ " Ryan hauls himself up onto his knees. "Fuck, I landed on my ribs. Shut up, asshole, this really fucking hurts."

Scot's laughter subsides. "You need to get to the bench?" 

Ryan gets a skate under him and stands up, a lot more slowly than he can on his own skates. "I'm good," he says, even though he's not a hundred percent certain his ribs are where they're supposed to be. Whatever, he's a hockey player, and he's not welching on a bet.

He does manage a few crossovers, and gets going backwards pretty solidly too. Stopping is a challenge, but he can revert to what he did for his first three seasons of hockey: just crash into the boards or into someone else if he needs to stop. He knocks Scot over a couple of times and executes one respectable back crossover before deciding that the bet has been honored and he really needs to sit the fuck down.

Scot is still out there, twirling at center ice with the other actual figure skaters. Ryan meant to get this bullshit off his feet pronto, but he finds himself watching instead. It doesn't make sense how nimble Scot is in these things. It's like they're intentionally built to fuck you up as much as possible. The enforcers of skate design.

Scot notices that Ryan is on the bench and catches his eye, beckoning him back out. Reluctantly, Ryan goes. "Aren't you satisfied yet?" he grumps.

"Nope," Scot says cheerfully. "I want to see you try a spin."

"You do hate me," Ryan concludes.

Scot ignores this. "Look, you want to keep your hips and shoulders square like this, and turn on the axis of the side you're standing on from hip to shoulder. Push out with your other foot like this, and..." He demonstrates.

Ryan gives it a shot and barely manages not to fall over.

"Not bad!" Scot says. "You're just leaning too far forward, you have to sit back on your heel more."

Ryan groans and tries it again. He catches his back inside edge on the ice and flails to keep his balance. "Fuck, I can't do this."

Scot catches his hand. Surprised, Ryan glances at him. He looks straight back into Ryan's eyes and says, "Yes, you can. Try."

His hand is firm and hot in Ryan's. Ryan doesn't move for a second, not really sure how shit got serious all of a sudden. Then he remembers that there are people around and pulls away.

He tries the spinning thing a few more times. It gets easier as he gets used to balancing. Neither of them says anything else, but every time he looks over, Scot grins and nods encouragingly. Eventually he manages one full rotation and calls it good. He's feeling kind of weird.

Everything seems normal as they take off their skates and head home in Ryan's beat-up Honda, but Ryan doesn't follow Scot to his house to hang out like he'd been vaguely planning to. He goes home instead and stares into space, not really thinking about anything.

*

Eric is outside doing yardwork the next time Ryan comes over. Ryan hangs around shooting the shit about the Leafs for a while, then hangs around not really saying much for another while. Eventually, Eric says, "Uh, something on your mind, dude?"

Ryan makes a face. He doesn't really want to talk about this shit in Scot's front yard. "I guess," he says.

Eric, being exactly the kind of guy Ryan needs to talk to right now, jerks his head and leads Ryan around back to the shed. He stows his rake and leans against the dusty workbench. "What's up?"

Ryan hops up on the workbench next to him so they don't have to look at each other. "You're gay," he says. "But you're not... like Scot."

"Nobody is like Scot," says Eric. "Kid made gingerbread cookies in the shape of Christmas trees yesterday. It's fucking August."

"Jesus Christ," says Ryan. 

"Yeah." Eric picks up a wrench and idly messes with the screw. "I'm gay, but I'm not that kinda gay. And you're not either, huh?"

Thank god Ryan doesn't have to figure out how to actually say it. "Definitely not baking any gingerbread," he agrees.

Eric tosses the wrench and catches it by the handle. "I was a dick to a lot of guys when I was first figuring out my shit," he says. "You don't need to have your shit figured out yet, but don't be a dick to my son. You got it?"

"Yeah," says Ryan. He swings his legs restlessly. "I guess I should go talk to him or something."

Eric puts down the wrench and grabs a pair of hedge trimmers. Ryan hops down and heads inside, feeling better.

He snags one of the gingerbread cookies off the counter on his way through the kitchen, then doubles back to tuck the plastic wrap back in place so the rest of them won't dry out. His mom is always on his ass about that, so Scot probably would be too. He takes the stairs two at a time, wolfing down the cookie. It's really good.

Scot is lying on his bed, looking at his phone. He turns off the screen guiltily when Ryan comes in, but Ryan catches a glimpse of the selfie he texted last week when he found a dumb toque with a gigantic puffball in his closet. So at least he's not the more pathetic one in this relationship. That's good to know.

"So," Ryan says, perching on the end of the bed a little awkwardly. No point in drawing this shit out. "Your dad just gave me the shovel talk."

"What?" Scot sits up, looking confused.

"You know. Don't hurt him, yadda yadda."

Scot's eyes are wide. "Why would you hurt me?"

Ryan scoffs. "Really? You're gonna play dumb on this? You're the one who held my fucking hand, dude."

"You were falling over!" Scot says defensively. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I just--"

So he's not playing dumb, he's actually dumb. Ryan doesn't say that out loud, because he's growing as a person. "Holy shit, just come here," he says, and drags Scot in by the shoulder to kiss him.

Some indeterminate number of minutes later, Scot breaks the kiss to say accusingly, "You ate my gingerbread."

They've somehow ended up flat on the bed, Scot's head on the pillow and Ryan lying on top of him. "Shit's good," Ryan says, and kisses Scot again. "How the fuck did you not figure this out? I put on figure skates and did spins. In _public_."

"We should do it again sometime," says Scot. "Would you..." He's cringing a little, like he's already expecting to be made fun of. "If we did, would you hold my hand for real? In front of people?"

He sounds so hopeful and scared that even if Ryan hadn't already promised Eric not to be a dick, he would still have said, "Duh. What's even the point of dating if you don't get to be all mushy and gross people out?"

Scot grins wide. "Okay," he says. "Good. Kiss me some more, please."

"WHAT?" Sam's voice drifts in through the open window. "And they're inside _alone_ together?"

"Ah shit," Ryan says, and kisses Scot some more while he has the chance.


End file.
